Those who read the comic should be aware on some level that the comic is the adaptation of the novel, which I am currently editing. I say “should” because I blather on about it a lot. At 25 chapters and over 500 pages (that’s single spaced, mind you :P) editing it is…torture. BUT! This is the revised version of chapter one, and I’m seriously thinking about redoing the comic chapter to match it. It contains far more clues than the original, and makes far more sense come the current chapter (Chapter 7.) I’ve currently only edited up to the middle of Chapter 6, but I’m working my way up.
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10 Years Later
Chapter 1 - Bad Decisions
Domain South: Continent of Gan-go, in the city of Goranga.
Talon crouched at the ready on a thick branch of a tall, hardwood tree. His back was braced against the smooth-barked trunk, and one hand rested lightly on a bough above. An empty satchel hung across one shoulder, carefully tucked behind an arm so that it would not hinder him when he moved. A knife was hidden in the folds of a blue sash at his waist, easily accessible. In his clothes of dark gray, Talon knew he was invisible to everyone who walked below him in the Upper City of Goranga, even despite the light of two small moons. He grinned. This is going to be too easy.
He tightened the fastenings of his boots and readied himself for a quick, silent dash down the length of the limb. It was a staggering height at which he rested, but he knew the danger of dwelling on the danger. He knew he had to visualize the straight line to his goal, and realize the bough was wide enough to walk, never mind the three-story fall to a cobblestone street. He breathed lightly, and the night air was exhilarating compared to the sticky heat of a Gan-gonian spring day. Able to hear his own heart beating with excitement, he dashed.
In three long seconds he arrived at the end, not pausing for even an instant when the limb forked into smaller branches that were not strong enough to bear his weight. He leapt, using the wooden recoil to give him extra distance, and landed with a roll on a gently-sloped, tiled roof. From there it was only a quick jaunt to the peak and a slide down the other side, right onto a small terrace of wrought-iron grate. As it had been the past two nights, the bubbled, glass doors were cracked open to allow a cooling breeze. No sound came from within. Talon checked his exit, a simple drop to a ledge overhang, and then another drop to the ground. From there, a sprint to the cover of shadows across a wide street and then back to the rooftops.
Simple entrance, simple exit, never panic: Talon’s only three rules of survival. He used the excuse of a strong breeze to help test the smoothness of the hinges of the terrace door; they were silent, and he pushed them wide enough to let his body slide through. Crouching down to the side, he let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark inside, waiting impatiently as he made out the form of a wide, canopy bed, draped in white linen, bookshelves stacked to the brim, leather covers worn with use, and a vanity table, on top of which rested a small, open, chest.
Talon felt his heart jump at the thought of how much money could be inside the chest, but did not move fast; he knew better. Speed led to clumsy mistakes, bumps in the night that woke up light sleepers, and most of all, getting caught. Thieves in Gan-go quickly learned to be good at what they did, and thieves of fortune who did not learn fast enough found that the punishment of being skinned alive too high a price to pay for the rare reward of gold. Talon however, like most thieves in Goranga, was a thief of necessity. He was broke. He was hungry. His sister would most likely throttle him if she found out. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while I’m at it.
The thief traveled towards the open chest first, stopping suddenly when he felt a sneeze coming. Swearing inwardly, he stifled it as his eyes watered and burned. Another came, and he caught it in his throat, bearing scratchy tingle silently. In a thin beam of moonlight that made it through the open doors, the thief realized the entire room was filled with dust, as though no one had lived there for years. That’s impossible! I just saw her two days ago!
He could remember her clearly. Her hair had been such a light blonde it seemed white, and she was tall-elegant-which was why he had bothered to come back the second night…and the third. Someone lives here! Talon growled to himself, stifling another sneeze in the back of his throat. He moved to the canopy bed to confirm someone indeed slept inside, but stopped himself. Money first, he remembered. Curiosity later.
With a frown, Talon moved to the desk across the room. His fingers found the open chest and gently felt around inside it. Suddenly he grinned, discovering that, as he thought, it was filled with coins. He took the first out slowly, sure to make no noise, and noted it was oddly wide and heavy. He shrugged, and one by one he took enough to fill his hand, gently placing each coin in a padded pocket in his satchel. He made himself stop at nine, wanting to take more, but cautious lest he be weighed down, discovered too soon, or simply make too much noise.
Talon turned away then, knowing that with even so little coin he would have enough to live comfortably for at least a month, and headed towards the foot of the bed. His fingers found a break in the gauze netting and silently pulled it back, just enough that he could see inside with the moonlight behind him. Beneath a thin layer of red, silken sheets, he could see the outline of a woman’s body. Curiosity temporarily satisfied, he turned to leave, but something made him pause: the body, under the blanket, it was not breathing.
Despite himself, the thief felt a shock. He had seen plenty of dead bodies before, victims of muggings or starvation, but if somehow he were tracked back to the lady’s house, he could be blamed. He closed the curtain, and moved to the top of the bed, pulling the veil away for a closer look. The woman was on her side, facing him, though her hair covered her face. Talon waited for a long moment, watching for the rise of her chest as the swearing in his mind grew louder. You need to get out of here, Talon, an objective part of his mind advised.
But there was something else. As dread grabbed hold of his belly, the thief reached out and moved the hair draped over the face, revealing a wound across the woman’s neck. There was no blood, but it looked fresh, more like a burn than a knife slash. The skin around it was puckered and pink, as though it had had time to heal-belying the look of the burn. Talon moved the hair more, revealing her face. He felt the blood rush from his head, and his skin grow cold. It was the same lady he had seen before, that much he could tell from the resemblance, but…it can’t be. She looks ancient!
The woman before him was aged, weak. The bones of her face were stark beneath slack skin, and her silver hair was limp, thin and ragged as old thread. Even as he watched, Talon swore the body seemed to decay before him. Her skin was so thin it was translucent, and the veins beneath were blue. The thief took half a step back, unable to contain his disgust. The stench of rot clung to his nostrils, worming its way to his stomach. He put a hand to his mouth, quelling the urge to not only gag, but also leave.
There was something in the woman’s hand.
It was small, but from the way her fingers clenched it, it was something dear, something valuable. He could not see what it was-only that it was thin and circular, and tied to a leather cord. He reached for it, and as his fingers grazed her hand, the woman’s body shuddered, releasing a breath. Her eyes fluttered open for a second before closing. They were gray and milky, blind with cataracts and age. Winds, she’s still alive?
Talon waited for a shriek, a murmur, for the woman to awaken fully at his presence, but she merely groaned as though in pain. You should get out of here, Talon, he told himself again even as he reached for what was in her hand a second time. She tensed, breathing shallowly, but did not wake as he carefully peeled her gnarled fingers back one by one. Finally, the ring-though it was far too large and flat to wear on a finger, it was the only word to describe it-rested limply on her palm. Ignoring the voice in his head that shouted at him to leave the thing, he took hold of the ring.
The instant the flesh of his fingers touched the metal, Talon knew he should have listened to himself. The old woman reared up in agony, her back arched close to breaking as she screamed, and though she ran out of her shallow breath in only a second, still she continued with a hoarse, guttural groan. The wound on her neck burst open, no longer half-healed but fresh and raw, dripping blood-spraying it-an arm’s length away as Talon stumbled backwards. He felt hot droplets land on his face, and swiped them away with his sleeve before he could think about what they felt like. The woman turned to him then, one claw-like hand grasping the wound at her throat as blood bubbled through her fingers, and the other reaching out to the thief. Her eyes, though unseeing, unspeaking, shouted at him nonetheless. A second later, she fell limply, finally dead.
Talon felt something burning in his left palm like a coal and looked to it. What he saw terrified him as much as the woman. In the moonlight, he could see his palm was covered in blood. The ring was embedding itself in his flesh, sinking deeper beneath the callused skin. Swearing, he regained his feet, digging into the workings of his own hand in vain. The pain was excruciating, and chills ran up his spine as cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Blood pooled beneath his fingernails, and pawing the slippery mess of his hand, the thief could only bare his teeth at the futility and the pain. He gasped and finally made himself stop, ripping a piece of the red silk from the coverlets and wrapping his palm.
“By the Four Winds,” he swore, tying the silk tight. “What the hell is going on?” Breathing far too fast, the thief found he could not leave the room fast enough. The edges of his vision were dark as if he were about to pass out. He stumbled through the balcony doors, and with one leg stretched over the wrought-iron guardrail, he yelled in fright when a hand on his shoulder grabbed him back.
“What have you done?” a voice snarled in his ear.
The thief tried to turn, tried to see his assailant as he was dragged backwards, but the grip on his shoulder was too strong. All he could tell was that it was a man, a very tall, very strong, man. Talon did not hesitate as he reached for his knife, drawing it from his sash to stab backwards twice. The hand released after a painful grunt, and hot with fear, the thief thought only of escape. He leapt over the guard-rail, landing awkwardly on the ledge below only to fall immediately to the ground. He landed in a rough hedge, rolled out of it, and raced away.
He did not look back, not as he dashed through the expensive gardens of private mansions, scaling the stone walls that separated them. He did not look back as he crossed his own trails, confusing anyone who may be tracking him. The burning on his palm began to fade, and with it his fear of what had happened. No one was following him. He was safe.
He made his way back to the rooftops, and then finally, back to the Lower City-where the slums and the shadows felt like home. He paused on the wide, flat roof beneath streaming moonlight and looked at his hand. The wrapping was too tight, and it was annoying him. Curiously, he felt his fear and disgust fade as he untied the silk and let it fall. The skin of his palm was whole and unmarked, without sign of a wound.
Why had he wrapped it in the first place, he wondered?
He let the silk fall, and he did not notice as the wind blew it away. The events of the night were distant, growing dim.
Where was he?
Talon ran a hand through his hair. He was confused, and could not remember why.
I’m hungry, he thought.
